Day 20: Why do you hate, Fatty?

Well, I know that looks bad. But one of my favorite sport bloggers calls himself Fatty and his blog title is Fat Cyclist. And I'm going to call him Fatty too...not because he's fat, [he's not, unless you're an elite cyclist...which he's NOT] and I'm jealous because when he throws words around, people [like cycling apparel shops whose stuff is usually way out of my price range] send him FREE STUFF. Which, in all honesty he usually gives away, but STILL.

His blog has a fun boys-club feel and the places he does his thing make for incredible photos. And never fails to remind me why I have stayed off the singletrack. I need my clavicles intact should I decide to actually get in the pool again this winter. right. soon.

I liked this open letter to triathletes. Not everyone is a fan, apparently. [I'm pretty sure his tongue was firmly in cheek here...]

In other news...I will be having a guest blogger on Friday! One of my favorites from the hasher family has graciously offered to lend his talents while I'm internet challenged and quite possibly hungover.

Happy Tuesday!

Bike Love

Next on my topic list is what I called “Bike Love, of a different sort.”

In an old post, the one about MeMeMe (stop it, I know they’re all about me. I am kind of a big deal) I listed motorcycles as being something I feared. That was left over from another time and another chapter but was a knee-jerk reaction just the same.

Then I met an amazing someone who made me feel safe, on the back of a bike, and I realized it wasn’t the machine I was afraid of. It was the giving up control and trusting the person driving to help me feel comfortable and safe and not forgetting that I was on the back, holding on.

And it hit me; "IT", the bike, is a metaphor for a relationship, if I’ve ever heard one.

I am no expert in that department. But the things I’ve learned and what my heart tells me are important to a successful partnership are very similar to what I’ve been given glimpses of while on the bike with the boy I call My Favorite:

It should be fun. Like playing in the sunshine, wind in my hair, grinning with bugs in my teeth, fun.

The destination should not be important. But the time it takes to get there should always seem just a little too short.

It should be comfortable for a long ride and feel solid underneath when the trip is longer or harder than first planned.

It should be ridden, and not left to get dusty in the garage. I feel a “take your breath away” kind of freedom that must be the secret that all those Harley riders keep in their pockets. I get it now. If it’s something that makes me happy, I will find a way to make time for it.

That it is necessary to ride solo sometimes. There is a lightness that comes with an unscheduled ride and when the bike allows an escape, away from stress and life, it should feel good to return home and know you’ve been missed.

And when riding on the back, I should feel safe. It’s a vulnerable position to be in, to be sure. Believing that it's okay to let go and completely trust someone who won’t forget I’m back there. To be wanted there.

Because that's me... with the helmet hair, grinning like mad but still a little scared sometimes.


I have learned not to worry about love; but to honor its coming with all my heart.
-Alice Walker
US novelist (1944 - )

Still Takes My Breath Away

Took this picture from my bike last night. It's October, but the weather is more like June. And just like I experienced at the end of the season last year, this is the ride that will carry me through those dark, cold winter months.

As a pedaled last night I thought about the long overdue update I've got started. But I was also thinking about how so many of my friends have been diagnosed with cancer this year. Maybe it's my age. Bodies start to show signs of wear and tear. And mostly I'm okay with that, because at this age all the wrinkles and weirdness that has been going on with my skin and bones is somewhat amusing and I've earned it. When I am old, I want to have used up my body and have some great stories to go along with it. So I can tell my audiologist all about it when she's got a waiting room full of patients to see before she can go to lunch. But I digress.

But I'm not okay with the fact that with every one of my friends and acquaintences who get the shocking diagnosis, there will be suffering. Hopefully it's fleeting. It's hard not to know what to do. But I read one plus two: brother can you spare a dime and realized it doesn't really matter what I do when someone is hurting, as long as I respond.

Link-a-licious...With Due Respect

Life is Funny. With a capital F.

I fear that if my DSL connection ever gets yanked I might have to go to rehab.

I got to thinking, when I grow up I want to be her or her, and if she can build her retirement home in his nostrils than I want to build mine in hers. And then if I get fired I hope to have her attitude and that her mom will let me sell Avon products to the world. And until I do grow up, I am so stalking her, the real reason I was tempted to throw my hat in this silly blogging circus. (Book tour! This summer! Chicago!)

What or who (whom? grammer police, a little help here) did you want to be when you grew up? (Hello...is this thing on? Where y'all been?)

So, spring is teasing us a little here in MO. You know what that means! Time to get back on the bike! Which I did on Saturday. Kept the rubber side down. Made an interesting observation that the wind CAN indeed blow from all directions at once creating a significant headwind no matter which direction the handlebars are pointing. But boy did that wind and ride do wonders for clearing out the cobwebs of a very long winter.

(Edited from original post 3/23/07)